The Lucky Ones
by WildeChild
Summary: Songfic. DHr. Hermione leaves a last message of love. Rated R for Dark themes and suicide.
1. The Lucky Ones

This is a fic I wrote for Youko Demon, angst monkey extraordinaire. It's rated R for a little Dark content. No idea what happened to me, I was just listening to the Buffy soundtrack and this appeared in my head. Please don't ask me to explain...

Thanks to Yu Yu Hakusho Lover for pointing out an insane spelling mistake that I made. I fixed it!

I don't own the song Lucky by Bif Naked, or Harry Potter. I do own evil sadistic Draco! Well, I wish I did anyway...

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_**The Lucky Ones.**_

_It was a Monday when my lover told me,  
"Never pay the reaper with love only."  
What could I say to you, except, "I love you."  
and "I'd give my life for yours."_

Yesterday someone asked me how much I loved you. It was a strange question to be asked, and I assume that they merely wished to know if I thought of you as a close friend or if I was completely enamored with you.

I didn't know what to say. Was I meant to hold my hands apart like a child and say; this much? Or was I supposed to break out in a song, recite a sonnet? It was Harry if you're wondering. None of the others were brave enough to mention your name in my presence.

I knew that one of them would have to eventually approach the subject of you at some point, I was anticipating it, but I still wasn't ready. I tried to be, I really did. I spent nights lying awake playing over in my head what they were going to ask me, and how I would respond. I thought I had every possibility mapped out in my mind, but as usual, I was wrong. It didn't matter how much preparation I did, this isn't like school, it didn't matter what I did. I just wasn't ready for that question.

And of all questions for Harry to ask me, it had to be that one. He had to ask me how much I loved you. I wondered at first if he was trying to hurt me, if it was some kind of revenge on his part to immediately hit me with a difficult and painful question. I wanted to slap him. I really did. I know you'll be proud of me for that, and I'm sorry to have to disappoint you when I admit that I did not. I burst into tears instead.

_I know we are ­ we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are ­ we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are ­ we are the lucky ones, dear._

It's not like me to do things like that. I never once cried in front of you, and I dare say that Harry and Ron have never seen tears fall from my eyes for more that a few seconds; I would always disappear or conceal it. I couldn't do that this time. I can't disappear or hide, not anymore, not now that they know.

I've hidden for long enough. I'm not ashamed of us anymore, we didn't do anything wrong. It took me a long time to realize that and you probably never will, but I need you to know. I need you to know that I love you. I can't change that. I don't want to change it. I don't want to forget all the time that we had together. I don't want to push away the memories of your voice, the last remnants of your touch on my skin. I won't do it Draco.

_The first time we made love, I wasn't sober.  
And you told me you loved me over and over.  
How could I ever love another, when I miss you every day? ­_

Do you still love me? Sometimes I wonder if you ever did. I don't suppose you ever really said it, I just knew. I knew when you looked at me in a certain way, a kind of content, longing half smile that I have never seen anyone look upon me with. At least, I knew that _I_ loved _you_ when I saw that.

I was inebriated when I kissed you that first time. I know I denied it, but it was the only way I could do it. You made me nervous, you still do. Just being in a room with you, even thinking about you now, my stomach is in knots, my mouth dry. You fascinate and frighten me, and I like it.

I like your arrogant gait and your lazy smirk. I like your cold stares from those grey eyes, I even like your cold hands. I like them running up my spine in the darkness, I like them seeking out my fingers when no one else is looking. I can even admit now that I liked your hand over my mouth. You didn't want them to hear me scream, but they saw the bite-marks on your hand for a month.

_Remember the time we made love in the roses?  
And you took my picture in all sorts of poses  
How could I ever get over you, when I'd give my life for yours?_

Are they still there, all those scars I gave you? Medical magic would have erased them in seconds, but you're stubborn about you scars. You count them as permanent mementoes of every fight you've been in, every fall you've taken, every prize you've won. Every scratch down your back, you kept, counted, even bragged about. I hated you for it. You flaunted your appeal, made it known that you could have anyone you wanted. But you didn't, did you? You're a liar Draco, and a good one, I'll admit. Your lies kept us a secret for one last glorious year of boarding school. And I suppose you did have everyone that you wanted, you wanted me, and you had me; _whenever_ you wanted.

I wondered if there were others, that's how convincing your lies were. Don't laugh. I know you're laughing, but you never gave me a reason to think otherwise. For such a long time you were a beautiful distraction, just some kind of forbidden and dangerously sweet seduction. What girl wouldn't want that? I wanted it. I still want it. I'm addicted. I'm addicted to you. Maybe it's not love at all. Maybe you're just the drug I need to keep myself alive.

_I know we are... we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are... we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are... we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are ­ we are the lucky ones, dear._

I'm dying Draco. No one else might be able to see it, but I can feel it. Every day I grow a little weaker, a little more tired, and evermore heartbroken. I never thought I would ever miss you, not really. I guess I never thought it was real. If I wasn't fearing that what we had was just a dream, the thought that it just another of your lies plagued my nightmares. And what is there to stop me from thinking this? I've already said it; you never told me you loved me. Not once.

What I wouldn't give to hear you say it now.

_My dear, It's time to say I thank god for you.  
I thank god for you in each and every single way.  
And, I know... I know... I know... I know... _

What did you really want from me? It was you that started this, not me. You called me back from that Prefects meeting after everyone had left, and I was ready to fight. I was always ready to fight. So was Ron, but you closed the door in his face and put your hand around my neck.

I thought you were going to kill me, I really did. My eyes were wide with fear, but you just stared, held in some kind of rapture, like you were living out some kind of fantasy. You didn't squeeze, but you could have, and you knew it, I know you did. It was only enough pressure to scare me so that I would breathe faster. You liked it when I breathed like that, you liked controlling me, liked feeling my life's blood flowing beneath your fingertips, knowing that you could end it at any time...

_It's time to let you know, time to let you know,  
Time to let you know. Time to sit here and say: _

You still have that power. You're holding it over me now. You must know it by now, it must have been obvious enough when I saw you that last time on the train back to London. You had that look in your eyes then, that content longing, more than you ever had.

I didn't like lying to my friends, making some excuse about feeling sick to take leave of their presence. And for just once I didn't like the fear of getting caught. I didn't want them to find out like that. I wanted to take your hand and go back to them, wanted to confess as much as was required and modesty permitted so that we could move on.

But you didn't want to move on. You just dragged your languid gaze over my body as I stood in the doorway, lazily waving me into your otherwise empty compartment. But I didn't go in, not at first. I was angry with you. You knew we were going our separate ways. You knew that we would never again have what we had together at school. There would be no more mystery and excitement. We were adults now. We had to enter society, had to grow up. But you weren't ready to grow up. You had other ideas.

History repeated itself Draco. You pulled me inside, slammed the door and put your cold damned fingers around my throat.

It was a warning. You whispered in my ear and grazed your lips across my cheek, and for the last time I could feel how heated your skin was becoming just from knowing that I was under you control again, and that I never again would be. That was why you dropped your hands to my shoulders and kissed me.

I cried then but you didn't see. You never did.

_I know we are... we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are... we are the lucky ones.  
I know we are... we are the lucky ones._

I'm crying now Draco. I'm watching the sunrise through my window here in the Auror's Academy boarding-house in Belfast. I've been awake all night, trying to think of what I should do. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I can feel spectral fingers like ice trailing along my skin until they reach my neck. And every single time I hear you whisper in my ear before I wake up gasping for air.

It's starting to disturb my roommate. I told her I almost drowned when I was twelve, that I have reoccurring nightmares about it. I don't like lying Draco, not like you do.

The tears are falling onto my parchment, ink running. But what does it matter now? You won't get this letter. I'm in Ireland learning how to fight Dark Magic, and you're in Azkaban awaiting a trial.

What have you done Draco? I don't believe what they're saying. That mark on your arm means nothing to me. I know they forced you, that you had no choice and I want nothing more than to help you now. I don't think you want me to help you. I think you want this. You want to hurt. For once in your life you want to feel something other than self inflicted pain and lust. You want real pain. You want to know what it feels like to agonize endlessly over something real, something that you are missing.

No one ever loved you, did they Draco?

Your father wanted an heir. Your mother had no say in the matter. You were nothing more than a lonely, ignored and unloved child who grew into an arrogant, emotionally stunted boy. And now what have you become? They've made you out to be a criminal, some kind of evil disciple to a long dead Dark Lord.

I know you better than this, you're no mastermind of malevolence. You were captured much too easily, Draco, you gave up without a fight. A lesser servant would have fought to the death. But you have never really wanted death, have you? You want your pain, you deserve that at least.

Besides, your father can't touch you where you are now. He can live with the illusion that you gave yourself to his cause and leave you well alone. We'll find him soon enough, you know that as well as we do. He won't love you any more for the sacrifice you have made, Draco, I hope you know that.

Your mother hasn't come to visit you yet, has she? I saw a copy of your records. I know she hasn't. In fact, the only person who has visited you is me.

_I know we are ­ we are the lucky ones, dear._

I watched you sleep. The guards thought I was doing research for my work here at the Academy. Another lie. Just another lie for you; the greatest lie of my life. I suppose you'll tell a great may lies to manipulate this situation to your liking. You always did. You're lucky like that, nothing ever affects you. I wonder if you even felt any pain when you had to leave me. Maybe you did, and maybe you liked it.

You didn't look like you were in pain when I saw you in your cell. You looked peaceful, as if there was no way the Dementors could harm you, like you didn't have a happy memory to your name. That made me angry at first, livid. But then again, I was never something that made you happy; it was more about gratification, living out some strange desire.

I hope you're happy now. I hope your auspicious fabrications lead you to a better place. When you get there, I hope it's far away from me. You used me to feed your demons, Draco, you made me fall in love with you.

_We are the lucky ones, dear..._

It's morning now. Eliza has already left for training. I think I'll go back to sleep. Evermore to dream of your cold hands and content smile, a whispered warning recurring in my mind. It's too late. It was already too late when you told me. You're my addiction. And I thought I was yours. I thought we were the lucky ones. The ones who belong together, love and happiness abounding.

It wasn't enough to save you, to stop you from making your eminent downfall. I can't help you where you are, Draco. Besides, I know that you don't want my help. You want your pain. Well you can have it. You can have your pain and your suffering, you can make anyone love you. You don't need me for that.

There was a time when you needed me, when you wanted me even more. I could have loved you. But you don't want love, you hardly need it. You grew up without it, don't believe in it. It's just another fairytale to you, nothing required to keep you alive, not like me, Draco. You're lucky like that. You don't need anyone. Well neither do I. This is my choice and I can do it on my own. I don't need you to kill me like you threatened on the train. I can do it myself.

I'm going to be one of the lucky ones, Draco. No more agony over you. No more tears. I'm taking the rest of my antidepressants and going to sleep. I wrote the others letters, it's only right that I make this one out to you. I hope this helps you with your pain. I hope you suffer. I hope you know that things could have been different, that I could have loved you even if you didn't really love me. I could have kept it a secret too, for the rest of my life I could have been faithful to you, even if you were not to me. We could have been the lucky ones, Draco.

Nevermind. I'll be dead soon. Maybe they'll find this letter. Maybe they'll give it to you. Maybe you'll finally know the truth. I told Harry that I didn't love you at all. I lied. I lied again to one of my best friends, for you. That is how much I love you. Enough to deny you.

Good luck with the trial. I hope the tears didn't smudge the words too much.

All my love,

Hermione.

_**The end.**_

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Might write one from Draco's point of view, I'll see how things go. 

Thanks for reading and thanks to all the supportive reviews I got for my other stories, I really appreciate them.

Liv.W.


	2. I Go to Sleep

Ok, I decided to write a sequel, kinda...

This is Draco's point of view from where he is now, and a letter that he is writing to Hermione. The song is _I go to sleep, _the cover by the Pretenders of which I was listening to when I thought of doing a second chapter.

So here it is. Thanks for the positive feedback, and I'd still like to say that I own evil, slightly sadistic Draco; but I don't. Nor do I own Harry Potter or The Pretenders and this song that I can't stop playing.

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_**I Go to Sleep**_

_When I look up from my pillow I dream you are there, with me,_

_Though you are far away, I know you'll always be near, to me..._

__

A reporter came to see me from the Daily Prophet yesterday. She asked me about you. Don't worry, I didn't tell her anything, not that there's really much to tell now. One of your bloody comrades found one of my diaries in my home.

Go ahead and laugh. Draco Malfoy keeps a diary like a pathetic thirteen year old girl. Hardly. There was enough evidence in there to incriminate every Deatheater to ever pass into contact with me, but then again, there was also enough evidence to incriminate _me_.

The reporter said something strange then, she asked me what we had talked about when you came to visit me. But you didn't visit me, did you, Granger? Not to my knowledge. 50 sickles made one of my guards happy enough to oblige the information that you had indeed come to visit me.

I had a dream about you last night. You said something strange to me, I'm not sure exactly what. You were angry about something. You were always angry about something, usually me. Even so, I didn't want to wake up.

_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you're there with me,_

_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you're there with me..._

__

But _you_ should have woken me up. Do you honestly think I care for sleeping in this place? Every night I dream of you and your damned beautiful face. I dream that I'm killing you. But not once do you beg for your life. You let me kill you. You let me do whatever I like as long as it pleases me. It's a lot like reality.

These dreams aren't a lot different to the ones I've had ever since meeting you. They were genuine in the beginning. I wanted to kill you. Everything I had ever learnt growing up had taught me to hate you, and I did, I hated you more than you will ever care to know. But you had to change. You had to grow up, had to stop looking like a grubby, over-intelligent little girl and start looking like the self assured prick tease that you are.

The dreams changed then. I knew you were gaining power in our little hate-filled relationship. You were a worthy opponent all those years, a worthy conquest. I hated you for your power, that power you had over me, over everyone. I wanted it for myself, and I dare say I took it.

_I look around me and feel you are ever so close to me_

_Each tear that flows from my eye brings back memories of you to me..._

__

I can still see the look in your eyes when I put my hand around your throat that first time. I could live out the rest of my life just remembering your ragged breaths on my skin as I whispered in your ear. I didn't think you would come back that night. You were late. I could taste the alcohol on your lips, Granger, you weren't fooling me.

You still aren't. I know you didn't come here for some research for your damned training. You came here to see if I was tearing myself to pieces over you. Were you disappointed? Is that why you didn't wake me up? Would you have preferred me to be huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth in tears, crying out to you? Begging for freedom, for forgiveness? Sorry to disappoint. Malfoy's don't beg. Nor do they cry. Better luck next time, Love.

_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you're there with me,_

_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you're there with me..._

__

The diary's in evidence. Go have a look sometime, see if I gave your character an accurate representation. It'll be a crying shame if I didn't, they'll probably read the best parts out aloud when I'm on trial.

You're panicking now, aren't you? Good, because I'm laughing. There's nothing worth reading in there about you, Granger. The best parts are in my head, and they can't have them. No one can. They're mine, not even you can take that away from me.

You think I deserve this, don't you? You think I like this mark on my arm, the one that stole my soul? Well you're wrong. For once in your bloody life, you're wrong, Granger. My father and his friends held me down and branded me for the rest of my life. There was no choice in the matter; this path was decided for me long before I was even born.

You don't have any idea what that's like, having your whole life planned out for you. Even my imprisonment in this damned place was part of the plan. I'm nothing but a pawn in his game. He'll be playing the part of the outraged father any day now, but he won't know what I wrote about him in that diary. He won't know that there is a list of pureblood names as long as my arm, nor the exact dates of strikes ordered by the Dark Lord himself.

So much for blood loyalty. He'll kill me if I'm not executed.

_I was wrong, I will cry, I will love you til the day I die_

_You are, you alone and no one else, you were meant for me..._

__

I wish I knew what you were thinking now. All this talk of killing, yet none of us brave enough to ever really make anything of our threats. I don't want to kill you anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really did. It was jealousy if you must know. You had something that I didn't, a lot of things actually. I saw you with friends who liked you for who you were, not what you were. Your parents, despite their unfortunate forthcomings, would have done anything for you, were accepting enough to permit you to go to Hogwarts. That enough is a sign that they would have been willing to let you live your own life, make your own decisions. They didn't plan your life before you were even conceived. You were not a child of necessity nor convenience.

You were loved.

Everyone loved you. How could they not? Your parents, your friends, the professors (for the most part). They all loved you. Harry loved you, Ron loved you more. Sometimes I think that I might have even loved you for a while.

_When morning comes again I have the loneliness you left me_

_Each day drags by until finally my time descends on me..._

__

I've been here three weeks now. My mother didn't even bother to come see me. I don't want to stay here. I don't like it. This is the furthest I have ever been from you, yet I am surrounded by you. You have that power over me. You knew it when you used to tease me throughout the day at school. You know it now. You know what this is doing to me, that it is destroying me just as it did all those times that you deliberately ignored me. You only made me want you more, made me want to punish you for ever even thinking that you had any semblance of influence over me.

That was when I hated you the most. I hate you for it now. I hate you when I can't sleep. I hate you when I dream of you. I hate that you're not here. Even more, I hate that you were here, and that I didn't know. I should have known. I should have felt you here but I didn't and I hate that. I hate everything. I hate my father. I hate my mother. I hate what I have become. More than anything; I hate what I have become.

Are you reading about me in the newspapers? They think I killed those muggle children, don't they? I didn't, Hermione. I didn't kill anyone. It doesn't count that I have killed any remnants of my true self, the person I was with you. He is gone. I hope you do not want him back as you did on the train to London in our final year.

The Draco you knew then kissed you goodbye. I knew I would never see you again, that we would be forever separated by more than land and sea, more than our blood ties. We will be forever separated by this conflict, by our loyalties, whether genuine or not.

We could never have more than that, I knew that when I started this. That's why we kept our relationship in the closet. It was never really anything substantial, was it? It was just some kind of tainted release. Just sex and violence. But it was enough. It was enough to keep you fulfilled while I regained my power. That was all I wanted from you. And you gave it so willingly...

Why did you do that? I thought I would scare you away, that I would have to spend weeks coercing you, maybe even find a way to force you. But you gave in. One word and you gave in. I was wary at first, it was too easy. But you wanted it, didn't you? After all those years of bickering like children, you wanted me. Not for my name and not for my reputation. You wanted a challenge. You were trying to prove something to yourself just as much as you were attempting to prove me wrong. You weren't always a good girl. In fact, once I took over, you were hardly ever a good girl. You liked that, didn't you, Hermione. You liked living out fantasies with me. You liked knowing that you were more than just a brain, that you were more than books and facts.

You were _mine_.

_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you're there with me,_

_I go to sleep, sleep, and imagine that you're there with me..._

__

Not anymore. I'm going to sleep alone. I don't like sleeping alone. Neither do you. I can't do much about it here, but you surely have found someone else over this year. Surely Harry is warm in your bed as I write this. I'll kill him before I ever kill you, if it's any consolation. I never stopped hating him.

It's destroying me, isn't it; all this hate? I don't know how to make it stop. I'm trapped here. I don't have anyone to vent my hatred on, not anymore.

You took my hate away. I didn't even think about it when I was with you. I could ignore my father's letters and Dumbledore's warnings. I could ignore the whole world if I wanted to, and I was proud of it. I liked being able to look at Harry and Ron and know that I had something they both wanted, but could never have. I liked knowing that you bled for me. And I loved knowing that you were as addicted as I was.

But you went too far, Granger. I pretended I was asleep when I heard you tell me that you loved me. It wasn't meant to go that far. You were meant to be my plaything. I was meant to use you for as long as I wanted and throw you away. I was meant to replace you a few weeks after it began. But I couldn't. You were like some kind of indescribable drug that kept me from doing the unthinkable.

Why on earth did you have to tell me that you loved me? I could have ended it at any moment before I heard you say that. Then I was trapped. I didn't know what to do. No one had ever said that to me.

Sad isn't it? You, of all people to be the first to tell me that you loved me. It seems absurd now. How could you love me? A person who never said a kind word to you. A person who wanted you for your body only. Where the hell was your common sense when you kissed me?

Oh, that's right. It was gone. You were drunk.

I was almost proud of you then. I thought maybe you had never been intoxicated, but you confessed that you and the other girls in your dorm did it all the time.

And do you have any idea what information like that did to my delicate, male, teenage mind? But you knew that it would, didn't you? You came to me with torrid stories as often as you could; you liked watching the effects it had on me, liked seeing me suffer from your suggestive taunting. And rightly so. It was only fair. Don't fool yourself into thinking that our relationship was anything but equal, you made me suffer just as much as you underwent.

But how could you think that? You have no idea how much I suffered for you, how much I suffer now. Don't let anyone tell you that love is bliss; love is nothing but pain. I knew that I could not love you. That was why I sent you away. That was why I threatened you on the way back to London. That was why I slapped you after I kissed you. I didn't want you to come back to me, I didn't even want you to come see me in this place. I don't want your sympathy Hermione, I don't deserve it. Just like I don't deserve your love. I'd rather you live your life thinking that I hated you than that I failed to love you.

It's pride. Nothing more. We're just too different. We have the same strange unrequited desires and yearning to be esteemed as more than the stereotypes the world has placed upon us. But where you could love with all your heart; I can only dream of this. And I do. Every night in this place. Every night I dream that you are beside me, and as I wake you fade.

I am fading. Just like the light of the day through my small barred window, I am fading. Without you I am fading, wasting away. I suppose it is better this way. Now I will never be able to hurt you, not even in the ways you want me to. I'll never be able to hurt anyone ever again. And my father won't be able kill me if I've done it myself. Cruel and ironic, that's all revenge is. But I'll have mine. I have nothing else to live for. There was a time when I lived for you, but now that you are gone, I suppose all I can do is die for you. I have to protect you. I have to protect you from the both of us. If I ever get out of here I won't be able to stop myself from going after you, and you've already proved that you can't leave me well enough alone.

I have to cut this short, the guard is talking to someone who wants to see me.

I hope your dreams are better than mine. They'll probably give you this letter when they find me. Don't let it hurt you, I'm tired of hurting you Hermione. Find someone who can love you the way you deserve.

Good luck with you training. Don't bother to write back.

What little love I posses to give,

Draco.

**_The end._**

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More to come. Thanks for reading and thanks for all the constructive reviews.

_Liv.W._


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